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Chapter Fifty-Eight: A World War
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 00:01:00 +0000 UTCGoogle Docs: For Suggestions
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Serena woke to a comforting warmth divided into two parts: the first being the golden-haired Amelia nestled in her arms, snuggling against her chest; the second was the radiant glow of Amelia’s magic enveloping Serena, soothing her muscle soreness and dispelling any lingering sleepiness.
The sensation of going from asleep to fully awake in a split second was something she was normally used to. Serena had been shelled awake on more than one occasion, and Anathor had done his fair share of acting as an alarm while she’d been asleep in her hammock. Still, the magic-induced wakefulness that was on par with adrenaline amazed her every time she experienced it.
“I presume you’re awake?” Serena intoned, bending down and ruffling Amelia’s hair.
Seven hells, Amelia smelled good. Her mother once told Serena that the man she’d marry would smell alluring. She didn’t quite understand it until recently. Of course, her mother would never have thought it would be another woman who would be so welcoming to her daughter's nose.
Wait… marriage?
“The clock chimed,” Amelia mumbled. “You were sleeping like a baby. Mmm… oh, wait!” Amelia shot up, her forehead furrowing. “I didn’t just ruin your training from Katalin’s session, did I?”
“No,” Serena said, stretching her limbs before pulling Amelia back into a cuddle. “Muscles only grow for about twenty hours after being stressed, so it’s fine.”
“Twenty hours? Are you sure? I thought it was longer…” Amelia said softly.
“Maybe for you weak humans.” Serena gave Amelia a sly smile, reaching down and flicking her nose. “Demons heal faster, grow faster, get ill less often…” Serena trailed off, lightly rubbing Amelia’s shoulder. “It’s only fair,” she continued. “We don’t have any gods of healing, so at least it’s somewhat balanced by our constitution.”
“Well, I can be your god of healing, can’t I?” Amelia said with pride, gesturing towards herself with a thumb and sticking her tongue out playfully.
“You…” Serena frowned before relaxing when she saw that Amelia was joking. Thank the Empress for that! If Amelia went around proclaiming herself a god, then the world would be thrown into total chaos.
Even more than it already was.
“Coffee?” Amelia asked.
“Mmm.” Serena climbed out of bed and prepared some morning coffee. They both cleaned up and dressed, only this time, Serena changed into her officer’s uniform. “Going to check in on the ship,” she explained when Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Would you mind giving it a quick clean?”
With a dash of Amelia’s cleaning magic, the uniform was free of dust and dirt. Amelia’s cleaning even removed the small smears of lubricant and grease that Serena picked up whenever she checked in on the Vengeance’s engineers. It was a great utility spell, and if she were ever away from Amelia for a long time she didn’t think she would get used to not having the feeling of total cleanliness that her girlfriend’s magic invoked.
I’m becoming spoiled, Serena thought. Like Lani.
“You want to come?” she asked.
“Another time!” Amelia responded. “Lunaria gave me a book on the Formless. I plan to read through it and then chat with Anathor. Think he’ll mind?”
“No, but don’t get your hopes up,” Serena answered. She’d first been apprehensive regarding the grumbling Formless, but as the moons came and went and Anathor had been nothing but trustworthy, she’d found herself relying on him. The few times she’d been a little inquisitive regarding who or what he was, she hadn’t gotten very far. “Anathor’s old. I’m not sure how old he is, but his memory isn’t great. He once mentioned something about it being damaged. Although…” Serena’s mind suddenly connected some dots. If Amelia’s healing magic was strong enough to seep into the fourth deck, was there a possibility that she had somehow healed Anathor?
Amelia clearly followed the same line of thought, asking, “Do you think he’ll let me try and heal him?”
“You could ask, but don’t do it without my permission,” Serena warned. “I’m not confident that it wouldn’t have unintended consequences. Anathor isn’t a living being – not by our normal standards, anyway. He’s a… thing. He doesn’t have a physical brain to store and process memories like we do. No one knows how the Formless work.”
“Mmm!” Amelia nodded. “And what about you? Have you had any more of those weird dreams? You know, mysterious bearded captains talking about ominous temples?”
“No, but I have an odd feeling that they'll resume if you use any large-scale magic on the ship again.” Serena didn’t know if having more interactions with the ship would be a good thing or not. On one horn, it could provide some of the vital information that Chesterfield was obviously withholding, but on the other horn, she could handle only so much at once. Having weird dreams that may or may not be the memories of a splintered thing contained within the Vengeance’s hull was not exceptionally high on her list of priorities.
With a kiss goodbye, which quickly became a second and third kiss, Amelia snuck out. After waiting a few minutes, Serena left with a slightly flushed face. She left the main building, heading down the main path where early-morning work crews were still installing steam pipes. She passed a yawning gate guard and entered the streets of the slowly waking Asamaywa.
A city was like a living being. In the mornings, it slowly became awake, with street cleaners brushing the paths and clearing snow, followed by the countless shop owners getting ready to open for business. Steam erupted from wall vents, indicating the early morning kitchen work of many of the city's restaurants. Younglings, with their horns small and still growing, ran through the streets throwing or posting the morning broadsheets. As the foot traffic increased, the food stalls began selling morning snacks to the workers heading towards their shifts.
Hopping onto a passing tram, Serena rode to the Asamaywa Imperial Docks. Stepping off, she handed her identification to the soldiers guarding the entranceway, and, after receiving a quick salute, she went inside. Almost instantly, the noise of steam grinders and welders filled her ears, along with the demanding shouts of foremen and workers. Whether it was day or night, dockwork never ended. Maintenance was always needed, and cargo needed to be moved.
Speaking of cargo, Amelia had brought up an interesting idea—the concept of a standardised metal crate that all their large-scale logistics would operate around. From the way she described it, it was revolutionary in her world. Serena found herself agreeing, but realistically, such a change wasn’t possible. Each greatlord, let alone each Terra-Firma, had the right to dictate their own standardisations, and getting the Empire’s multi-cultural territories to agree to a single standard would be impossible.
The Empress could do it through an Imperial Decree. The only problem was that it would be seen as an unprecedented example of Imperial oversight. Not only that, but it would be a nightmare to implement. Just in Asamaywa alone, the Carpenter’s guild had legal monopolies on certain construction, including the wooden crates, pallets, and barrels they used for logistics in the East. These were well-regulated by themselves and seen as a stable solution to a solved problem. No one would want to make such a change in the middle of a conflict.
Perhaps after the war, it would be possible.
Walking to the bay that held the Vengeance, easily identified by its distinctive black hull, Serena was about to step onto the gangway when she was hailed from behind.
It was Thorne, her weapons officer.
He ran up to her, offered a salute and said, “Captain! Morning. Was about to send an aethergram to the Academy.”
“What news?”
“Someone from Intelligence has some orders from up above. He’s waiting back there.” Thorne indicated towards a door behind him. “Brought some fancy-looking equipment with him, as well as some engineers. Wouldn’t tell me what it’s about, but if I had to guess, we’re getting some upgrades.”
“Equipment? Be specific, Officer.”
“Aye, Captain. Looks like a new fire-control system for our turrets. A mechanical calculator that links up with the rangefinder.” He shook his head slightly, an expression of awe and excitement forming on his face. “I saw early prototypes of it when I was in training, but this looks far more sophisticated than anything I could have envisioned. Looks like the very latest stuff.”
It wasn’t often she saw excitement on the face of her weapons officer. The man had once told her he cared about one thing and one thing only: to accurately put down as much shellfire as possible on an enemy's position, whether in the sky or on the ground. Serena valued that kind of ruthless pragmatism the most and put significant effort into cultivating it amongst her officer staff. They fulfilled their roles with efficient professionalism, so if someone like Thorne dropped that façade, it meant that this new fire-control system was the real deal.
“And this Intelligence Officer, did he give his name?”
“He introduced himself as Officer Adachi, Captain. Said you were expecting him at some point.”
Perfect. She was in the mood to twist some horns.
“Take me to him,” she instructed Thorne. The man saluted and led Serena through the door he’d gestured at earlier into a small waiting room. There stood the familiar visage of Aiden Adachi in uniform and three middle-aged engineers in overalls. There was nothing special about the overalls themselves, but from the visible cuffs, boots, and necklines Serena could see all of these engineers were officers.
“Captain Halen!” Aiden called out, walking up to her and offering a salute. “Congratulations on making Lord. Long overdue, if you don’t mind me saying.” He held out his hand, his face showing a wide smile.
Serena took his hand in her own, shaking it. Maybe she used too much force, or perhaps there was a look in her eyes that Aiden picked up on, but his smile suddenly didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing to mind,” she said with her own slick smile. “I thought the same.” She held his gaze for a little longer than most would consider appropriate before turning and nodding towards the three engineers. “And who are these men?”
“Captain!” The one in the centre saluted. He possessed a thick Centralis accent. He didn’t sound highborn. Serena immediately recognised him as someone who had risen through the ranks. “Sergeant Major Lange, Engineer Corps!” he exclaimed, introducing himself. “These two are Warrant Officers Watanabe and Satou.”
“Captain!” The two Warrant Officers saluted, their accent matching Serena’s own.
“At ease,” Serena intoned, approaching the Sergeant Major. “Where are you from, Sergeant Major?”
“Kronach, Captain!”
“Near the capital, then. What’s a Centralis-born man like you doing over here?”
“Priority assignment, Captain! We’re here to modernise your fire-control system and train your gunnery crews on its operation! We also have orders to shore up your defences. A shipment of rolled homogenous armour should arrive any day now!”
“Do you now…” Serena narrowed her eyes, prompting the Warrant Officers to swallow audibly. She considered herself a military soldier through and through, but the Vengeance always operated slightly outside the typical chain of command, with her captain's position possessing more autonomy than usual. Serena was accustomed to making her own decisions regarding provisioning upgrades for the ship, as she did with the new propellers Tomes recommended. Having a stranger appear and tell her what work had to be done irked her a little.
“Captain Halen,” Aiden said quietly. “Orders from up high.”
Serena turned to see Aiden extending a sealed, plain-looking letter. She took it from him and stepped aside. With a glance at the wax seal, verifying the letter originated from Centralis Intelligence, Serena tore it open. She read the contents twice before tutting and crushing the paper in her hands. What pair of horns did Intelligence think they had to refer to her ship as lacking an adequate fire-control system? She did agree with the orders to conduct training drills alongside the academy’s semester, but Serena planned to do that anyway!
It was micromanagement. The exact type of management she hated most.
“Always sticking their horns in…” Serena grumbled. She clicked her tongue, not hiding her annoyance. “Right then. Sergeant Major Lange, what new fire-control system has got my Weapons Officer so riled up?”
“Captain!” Lange gestured towards a door. “We have it partially assembled in here. If you’d follow me…” Serena nodded and was led towards the adjoining room.
“I’ll be off then,” Aiden called out, turning towards the exit.
“Hang on,” Serena coldly intoned. “I have questions that need to be answered, Officer Adachi. Kindly wait here.” She glared at Aiden until the man’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded meekly.
Leaving the man to simmer in his nervousness, she and Thorne followed the three engineering officers into the next room. An area had been cleared out and swept clean. On one side, a large cross-shaped piece of equipment lay. She immediately recognised it as a type of naval rangefinder; each of the three turret pods on the Vengeance used a long-base coincidence naval rangefinder to determine the distance of a target. With that information, along with the sighting telescopes on the top and bottom of the ship's superstructure that determined the azimuth and elevation, the gunners only needed to estimate the target's speed to fire shells somewhat accurately.
The difference was that this rangefinder was cross-shaped and had a series of flanges along one side, where there would presumably be pipe connections once it was fitted. More piping could be seen snaking its way over the cross-shaped equipment. Why would a rangefinder need steam? Confused, Serena turned her attention to the main attraction: a large metal and glass box sitting in the centre of the room.
It stood hip height and was perhaps two metres by one metre. It could be mistaken at first glance for a fancy desk if it weren’t for the tempered glass windows revealing the fine cogwork inside. On the outside, there were a dozen labelled levers, dials, switches and flipdot readouts. On the parts not covered in controls, there were tables of values etched into the metal. Like the strange rangefinder, this table had flanges where steam pipes could be attached.
Speaking of steam, a shiny new steam engine and other miscellaneous equipment lay next to the table. Even with a glance, Serena could tell this steam machine was modern, looking far sleeker and more machined than the massive cross-compound double expansion engine that supplied the Vengeance.
“Officer Halen, may I introduce you to the Integrated Ambler Firing Table,” Lange explained, dramatically gesturing with his hand. He pointed at the cross-shaped rangefinder. “Starting with this. It is a six-metre, dual-sighting, gyro-stabilised theodolite. The operator lines up the target using the same method as the usual coincidence rangefinders, but in addition to the target’s range, it also calculates their azimuth and elevation. This information is automatically fed via steam pressure through these outlets…” He pointed towards the flanges Serena had spotted before turning and identifying the same on the firing table. “...Into the firing table here. Do you see this fourth and fifth connection? If we connect it up to the ship tachometer and pitot-venturi tubes, then this”–he slapped the part of the table that contained the densest amount of machinery–“does all the maths for you. If you feed it enough steam or manually crank this handle, it’ll constantly output targeting data to the flipdot displays. We call it the director.
“Not only that, but through these switches, you can tell the director to factor in how many pounds of propulsion-crystal you’ve got in the barrel. I’m told you still use manual traverses to adjust the gun's elevation and rotation, yes? Well, here’s the bit that’ll blow your mind, Captain.” The growing enthusiasm of the Sergeant Major reminded Serena of how Allston sometimes got when talking about engine rebuilds. Her attention was directed to the steam engine to the side. “This is the latest generation gun-mover, the result of a collaboration between Centralis and Yemenian engineers. If we can hook these up to your turrets, we can link it all together with the Ambler and your turrets will automatically start tracking based on the output data! Even if your main steam power is lost, this fella here will keep it all running.”
“Like a mechanical brain…” Serena murmured, thinking of the weapons Amelia had talked about.
“Exactly, Captain!” Lange nodded happily. “This is what I’ve been ordered to install in your three pods. The Vengeance’s pods are standardised, so it’ll only take about a month. Warrant Officers Watanabe and Satou are tasked with training your gunnery crews. There are practice stations at the Asamino Gunnery School they’ll be using, at least until my work is done and then you’ll be able to do live-firing training.”
Serena turned to see that her usually restrained Weapons Officer was practically hopping on his feet. “Thorne,” Serena said. “What do you think? Do you have any questions for these men?”
“Yes, thank you, Captain!” Thorne stood up, eagerly addressing Lange. “Sergent Major, how does the director take into account altitude?” The weapons officer became giddy with excitement when Lange pointed out the inbuilt mercury barometer. Serena knew that with long-range shots, especially against a target with a significant elevation difference, experienced gunners needed to factor in the variations in the thickness of the atmosphere the shell would be travelling through.
She had to admit that she was impressed with this Ambler Firing Table. It was the kind of thing Nina would drool over before disassembling it and putting it back together a dozen times and drafting blueprints for a more sophisticated version.
“The circular error probable?” Thorne asked, continuing his interrogation. “What can we expect?”
“With you and the target in motion? Assuming your barrels are fresh… one hundred meters at ten kilometres using a four-inch system, if your engineers dial it in right,” Lange answered with a note of pride in his voice. “If one of the parties is stationary, then you can expect to maintain a hundred metres up to thirteen kilometres. If you’re both stationary and the weather is good, we’ve maintained that accuracy up to sixteen kilometres, but then you’re reaching the limits of a four-inch system.”
Serena couldn’t help but let out a low whistle, copied by Thorne. At ten kilometres, their current gunnery crews achieved a circular error probable – the radius within which half of the fired shells fall – of three hundred metres. This would rapidly worsen to five hundred metres as they approached their maximum range. This Ambler Firing Table promised more than a threefold increase in their firing accuracy. As far as Serena was aware, that was more accurate than anything the human navies could do.
“You mentioned it can be manually operated?” Thorne asked.
“That’s right.” Lange nodded. “Even if you lose all steam power, including the backup, then you can manually input the values using the dials. You see here, there are sections for your current altitude, direction and speed? The switches here will override the information coming from the steam pipes. These are for the target's azimuth and elevation, and these are for the bearing and speed. The bottom ones here are for the level of charge you’re firing at. Input all that in and then…” Lange manoeuvred himself to one side of the table, reaching down and cranking a heavy-looking handle.
At first, nothing happened; the only sound was the quiet whirling of the rotating gears, which was slightly muted through the glass. Then, the firing table began producing a symphony of clicks and clacks. This noise reached a crescendo until hundreds of distinct clicks could be heard every second. Then, without warning, the flipdot display lit up, the aetherlight behind it providing enough contrast for Serena and Thorne to read out the displayed value.
“Bearing sixty, elevation ten point five degrees,” Thorne murmured.
“That’s just the first cycle,” explained Lange as he continued to rotate the crank. “It’s calculating the required parabolic arc, and each cycle evaluates the next term in the sequence.” A moment later, the flipdot changed to slightly different values, and a few seconds later, it changed again. This happened six times before it ceased changing.
“The director calculates seven terms,” Lange explained, not stopping his physical exercise. “That’s sufficient for three decimal places. Now, Officer, try and change a value.”
Thorne obliged and adjusted a dial representing the target elevation. With the change made, Lange continued to operate the table and a moment later the flipdot display changed to reflect the newly calculated parabolic arc.
“I admit, I’m impressed,” Serena said, folding her arms. She might not like these changes being forced upon her by Intelligence, but she couldn’t deny the combat effectiveness they would gain from it.
“One of the greatest feats of demon engineering I’ve ever witnessed,” Lange said, stopping his operation of the firing table and standing back up. “Not even the Oshiro-class has these installed. They only entered production four months ago. These directors have been configured with years of real-world targeting data from over a hundred naval engagements. I’m surprised they’ve prioritised a light cruiser such as the Vengeance.” The demon shrugged. “Hells, who am I to complain? I’m just happy to work with such a machine.”
“When can you start?” Serena asked.
“The installation? Today. If your Weapons Officer and Chief Engineer can give us a walkthrough of your pods, we’ll start drafting a work schedule. The Warrant Officers can show your gunnery crews to new lodgings in Asamino for training. Best they get started as soon as possible.”
Serena nodded, turning to Thorne. “Thorne, find Allston and show these men what they need. Send an aethergram to the barracks and get your gunnery crews here.” She turned towards the Sergeant Major. “I’m teaching a semester in the Asamaywa Officer Academy. If anything urgent comes up, you can find me there. Regardless, I expect I’ll come down and check up on things every few days. Dismissed.”
With her orders given, the men set about their tasks. Giving the machine one final look, Serena left the room to find Aiden standing awkwardly. When he saw her, he grinned sheepishly and nervously rubbed the back of his neck.
“Captain Halen, I don’t have long…”
“This won’t take long,” Serena said, trying to keep herself from snapping. She dragged Aiden into a nearby room. Once inside, she locked the door before turning on the man and giving him her best intimidating glare. To emphasise her displeasure, she deliberately walked slowly towards him.
“Aiden,” she said, making her voice sickly sweet. “Guess what I found out the other day?”
“What’s that?” Aiden replied, backing away until his back hit a cabinet.
“Amelia’s got a new assistant, did you know?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “An assistant that just so happens to be the same student you met when Amelia healed her broken arm. An assistant who claims that before we left Kenhoro, she was approached about an opportunity to become an assistant to a mysterious Speaker in Asamaywa. She said the Grandmaster put her name forward, but I have this terrible feeling that it might have been you.”
Serena raised an arm, visibly making Aiden cringe. She placed it above his shoulder, leaning into him. It felt good to be tall. “Surely I must be mistaken? Because that would mean that you lied to me when you said you were just in Kenhoro for a personality profile, wouldn’t it? It would mean you knew about that bastard Chesterfield’s plan to have Amelia and me come here, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Now, Serena, look here,” Aiden began.
Serena raised her other fist, clenching it tightly. Before she could intimidate Aiden any more, he suddenly squealed out, “If you hurt me, I’ll tell Amelia!”
A long silence passed between them.
Eventually, Serena straightened up, stepping back to make space between them.
Another long silence passed.
“Seven hells, Aiden…” Serena mumbled.
“I…”
“That was…”
“I know, don’t tell her, please?”
“That was pathetic! Ha!” Serena snorted, chuckling at the now red-faced demon before her. “That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Look at you! An Officer running around tattling about their problems to Amelia.”
“Bah!” Aiden groaned. “Just don’t tell her, please! I panicked, okay?”
“Panicked? What did you think I was going to do to you!?” Serena scoffed. In her eyes, she had every right to be angry at her so-called friend, but she wouldn’t cause him any actual harm.
Maybe a tiny bit?
“You, err.” Aiden shuffled on his feet awkwardly. “Had that look in your eye, Serena.”
“What look!?”
“You know… look, never mind!” Aiden put his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I’m not told everything! I don’t know exactly what was decided and when, but I do know this.” He curled one hand into a pointed finger, emphasising his point. “When Amelia healed you, and the Vengeance denied the Dragon access to her, someone very high up decided to prioritise bringing Amelia over to the demon side with no expense spared. Something about the ship protecting her set off alarm bells. They were going to imprison and interrogate her, and now, Amelia could probably ask for a Greatlord’s territory and they’ll give it to her if it would secure her loyalty! That’s how important she is to the bighorns!
“And then… when our agents discovered that you two were, you know, a thing.” Aiden’s eyes darted to the side, and Serena felt an unavoidable blush form. “Whatever plans they had with her now encompassed you as well. At one point, I think they planned to persuade her to become a student at the Academy for the full two years, with you teaching, but then”–he raised another finger–“then, she invoked Asclepius, and everything changed! And not in a good way!”
“How so?” Serena asked, feeling her forehead furrow.
“Well, it’s mostly rumours, but I heard that the Intelligence apparatus dedicated to infiltrating and monitoring Christdom and its allies tripled overnight. These are not just passive measures but active ones as well. I’m hearing whispers of everything from sabotage campaigns to a pre-emptive strike!”
“Nonsense,” Serena said. “The Empress wouldn’t order another front. We’re currently winning in the Republican war. We have the numbers, the materiel, the ships. We overmatch them in everything.” The current approach Cascadia took in the conflict was a war of attrition. They had long destroyed the main combat force the Republican side possessed pre-war. Now, they were mainly chipping away at unmotivated conscripts. If the human nations wanted their military aid to be used ineffectively by the struggling Republican army, then that was a deal that worked for the demons! “They have no pathway to victory, and everyone knows it. Why would we spoil our advantage by stretching ourselves with another theatre?”
“Right, my thoughts exactly, but listen to this…” Aiden leaned in, lowering his voice. “I still have contacts from my time in logistics. You know what I’m hearing from those guys? Massive expansion of production lines. Everything from raw resource extraction to smelting. Extraction companies in the desert have been awarded huge contracts to find more red. Why else but the mass production of explosives? And it’s all kept quiet. No announcements. It's the same thing with shipbuilders; believe me, they aren’t laying down hulls for civilian ships. No one wants to admit it, but all the signs are there. We’re preparing for war at a scale never before seen by either demon or human hands!”
“A great conflict…” Serena trailed off, her thoughts wrapped in confusion.
“A conflict, judging by what I’ve been hearing, is expected to be waged against any and all enemies. Not just Christdom, but their allies and anyone else. And if Christdom and their allies go to war, the rest of the human nations would follow, either against us or each other. You’re aware of the military alliances on the human continent. It’s a powderkeg waiting to ignite!”
Serena was quiet for a long while before saying the phrase which refused to leave her mind unless it was spoken out loud.
“A World War…”
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